Temptations
by 8NobodyKnows8
Summary: Ivan Braginsky has grown up in the church most of his life, however his faith and will will be tested when he meets a troubled young boy named Matthew Williams on the run for committing unspeakable sins. RusCan M for later.
1. Prologue

**Okay, this is my second RusCan series…so I hope it's really good! Just saying ahead of time, I know nothing about church life and or England so please forgive me if anything's inaccurate or vague. Anyway, I don't own Hetalia in any way, shape, or form, so don't sue me! Reviews are love, so please help me out and tell me what you think! So here it is: Temptations~**

If you were to ask Ivan Braginsky about his childhood, he would say he remembered three things: a feeling, a journey, and a word.

In the haze that was his past, he could definitely say he remembered one feeling. Cold. It seemed to fill almost every memory for him. The long stretches of snow, the never-ending ice that covered his old home. He could never forget the frozen air that burned at his lungs, forcing him to bury his face into his soft scarf. He remembered clinging to…someone for much needed warmth, warmth that could not be found in his thin clothes.

The journey he remembered in flashes. Leaving his frozen tundra for better lands, being packed into a tiny cart like a sardine along with many other people with only blurs of faces. He remembered the kind acquaintances, speaking in strange tongues and feeding him foreign food he only wished he remembered the taste of. And the last part of the journey he could recall was the ocean; the short stretch of water that separated him from a new life and the possibility of an actual family. The lands beyond that sea represented his future, something his 8 year old self could not comprehend.

One thing he _could _comprehend was свобода. This was the last word Ivan heard before being left utterly alone, left to his own devices on the damp and green island. This was meant to be his land of opportunity, and it was as he walked through the seemingly ancient streets of the bustling city that he heard its name for the first time. England, the first English word he ever savored on his tongue, sounding a bit odd through his thick, childish accent. For the longest time, England would be his definition for свобода, mistaking it for the English translation of the term.

And as Ivan made his way through thick and enchanting forest, the small Russian boy came across sanctuary. Tucked away in the lush hillside was a church, small but beautiful in stature. The gothic stone building would have seemed ominous to anyone else, gorgeous green ivy crawling up its sides, however to Ivan it screamed comfort. Safety. He knocked on the large wooden door, wondering what it held in store for him. But when the door opened to reveal a kind and gentle-faced old man, he knew this was it. This was home. _This_ was свобода…wasn't it?

**So, what'd ya think? Please review and tell! **

**Translations: свобода = 'Freedom' in Russian. Blame google if it's wrong.**


	2. Chapter 1: Visitors: Dreams and Reality

I FAIL. So let me start off by saying I am so sorry for the late chapter…and its chapter 1. I fail so much guys I'm sorry, but writers block has no mercy. All in all, I hope you at least enjoy it, it's not my best work, but I promise it will get better once the story picks up! Also, I shall say I know nothing about the weather in England or church-ly activities.

As we all know, I don't own Hetalia and never will. Don't sue me or anything.

Ivan had lived in this church his entire life. Well, the better half of it anyway. The good people of the church took him in when he was 8 years old, hungry, homeless, and barely speaking a lick of English. His days were spent immersed in studies, learning basic schooling in the morning along with rigorous practice in learning the English language. However his afternoons were specifically devoted to learning from the priests that took him in, listening to the words of the heavens and memorizing their gospels.

Although the church was small, that mattered little to its occupants. Their utter devotion and faith enthralled Ivan, he found their powerful speeches both inspiring and mesmerizing. It wasn't long before he himself considered himself a committed member of the church. His life had been thus for 9 years.

-o-

Sunlight shown through the trees, gracing the forest with its presence. Ivan emerged from the heavy church doors to start his morning chores. His silvery hair shown in the daylight, framing his rounded features. He wore a plain brown shirt along with similar colored slacks, making his bulky frame seem a little more childish.

The 17 year old carried a large basket of laundry and set off into the surrounding area. They lived a fairly simple life, but Ivan liked it that way. Truth be told, they had a washer and dryer, but Ivan preferred to keep this part of the day a secret.

As he neared a small creek, moist air filled his lungs. The summer breeze accompanied a symphony of sounds: the messy trickling of water, the occasional call of a bird, the indistinct melody of buzzes that were enough to drive anyone to insanity. But he loved it all. It was home, but more importantly, it was warm (comparatively at least). Summer was his favorite season in England, an opinion that made most people stare in disbelief. The heat that encompassed him was almost refreshing.

He wiped sweat from his brow and continued on down the creek. Ivan stopped near the end of the water where a small gathering of rocks and moss created a natural filter; perfect for the task he had set out to do.

The Russian knelt beside the water, immersed in his thoughts. This was probably the third load of laundry he had had to do this week. He was having _those_ dreams again. Ivan was used to nightmares, he'd had them since before he could remember. However lately they seemed to have…changed.

The dreams always started the same, running barefoot through the snow. From what, he did not know, all he knew was that he was scared. The ice would always bite at his bare feet, causing them to bleed. The scenery running past him was always a blur, frequently changing into ambiguous shapes. He would run faster and faster…until he found himself on a frozen lake. He would always stop in the middle, as would his pursuer.

Now, usually he would suddenly fall through the ice, the cold water would suffocate him and he would wake up. However recently, the ending had changed. When Ivan would fall into the black waters and familiar freezing temperatures would tear at his flesh. Then, out of the blackness, a blond figure would emerge from seeming nowhere.

That ethereal visage was forever imprinted in Ivan's mind. Those soft pale cheeks, piercing violet eyes, and velvety pink lips that never failed to meet his. A tender hand would come up to cup his cheek and mouths would meet, breathing air into his lungs. With each breath he took, liquid fire would shoot through his veins. Brilliant warmth would envelope him, but not like summer warmth. This felt like a heat wave in spring, a singeing pain, but no less craved after the long chills of winter. The kiss would deepen, tongues would mingle while arms wrapped around each other, pulling bodies closer. After that, Ivan would find himself no longer in water, but simply floating into nothingness with this person; this man. It was never long before gravity took over, forcing bodies to the ground, all the while the mysterious blond's slender fingers would pry beneath the scarf Ivan could never remember putting on. The heated battle would commence and Ivan would always wake up to find he had made a mess of himself and the sheets…again.

The pastor, John, had teased him relentlessly for this, knowing all too well it was only a matter of time before this started happening (don't judge, he's a late bloomer~…idk). He would often pass the Russian boy in the hall and nudge him jokingly, asking who the girl was. Ivan often times just smiled awkwardly, saying he didn't know, and continued about his business. He wondered if he should tell Father John, after all he had been just that to him, a father. He quickly thought against it though. His dreams were about a man, and such frivolities were condemned in the Bible. So for now, this was his secret.

He sighed as he methodically cleaned his clothes. "Dear Lord, vhat's wrong vith me…" Ivan stopped, internally lecturing himself for allowing his accent to slip through. "_What's _wrong _with_ me," he mumbled, correcting himself.

Ivan pulled at the clothes he was wearing, airing out this baking flesh, and reached up toward his neck. His fingers grazed his skin lightly, missing the comforting touch of fabric. That was the only thing about summer; he could never wear his scarf. That scarf was the only possession he had with him when he came to the church. It was the only thing he had left of his old life.

Having finished his task, Ivan sighed and gathered up his wet laundry and started walking back to the church. Using clothespins, he hung up the sopping cloth lightly, a small smile never leaving his face.

"No matter what you do, you're always smiling, always seemingly happy."

Ivan snapped out of his thoughts, turning toward the speaker. A man wearing worn but clean robes, leaned against the stonewalls of the building. Thin white hairs still remained on his aging head, and his wrinkled face looked at Ivan with a gentle expression. Ivan returned his tender smile. "Oh, good morning Father John," he replied in perfect English, nodding his head by way of respect.

"Come now, Ivan. No need to be so formal," the elderly man said, literally reaching up to ruffle the Russian's hair.

He chuckled, though slightly irritated by the priest's antics. "Sorry Father."

"So, having more of those dreams, are we?"

A dry look consumed Ivan's face. "You know, for a priest, you ended up being a dirty old man."

John let out an aged, but hearty laugh. "I can't help it. I just remember you were just a little boy on the steps of our church and now you're all grown up. Plus I'm British, so whatever expectations you have of me, scale it down a bit." (All those who get the reference, get a metaphorical cookie.) The holy man smiled warmly at him and placed a hand on his shoulder. This action made him both happy and slightly uncomfortable. He hated hiding things from this man.

"Is there something bothering you?" Let me rephrase, he could hide nothing from this man.

Ivan forced another complacent smile onto his face. "Everything is fine, don't vorry." John raised an eyebrow and the boy's cheeks turned pink. "_Worry_. Don't _worry_…" Ivan repeated.

"Alright, if you say so. Now go inside and get to your studies, we can't have you slacking off."

"Yes father." Ivan hurried into the building and up the narrow stairs.

His room was at the end of a small corridor and used be a rather large supply closet, however Ivan thought nothing of it, simply happy to have a place to stay in the first place. Closing the door, he grabbed a book off the rickety shelf above his bed and began to read. Having gotten used to the daily ritual, the young man needed no help in performing his duties. He immersed himself math, geography, history, and common literature, occasionally jotting down questions in the margins of the pages and making a mental note to ask them later. Of course, all of the books were in English, consequently helping him that subject as well. He enjoyed all the subjects he learned…except math. Math was the product of Satan, he was sure of it.

Ivan's brow wrinkled in confusion as he pushed some ash blond strands of hair away from his eyes. He tapped the pencil on the book absentmindedly, his frustration building. "How. How does that work?" Ivan's violet eyes narrowed. He was two seconds away from ripping the wretched page from its bindings, when a knock at his door broke him out of his thoughts.

"Were you planning on eating lunch today Ivan?"

The boy wordlessly rose from his perch and made his way over to the door. _Is it that time already?_ He thought. Opening the door he smiled warmly at the elderly man behind it. "Sorry father, I'll be down in a second."

"Very well Ivan. But remember, I said don't slack off, not work yourself to death. Now hurry up before you're late for afternoon mass."

Ivan watched, as the man turned on his heel and walk in the opposite direction. Feeling the smile fall from his face, he sighed. "Da." He went back into his room and glared at the book resting on the bed. He pouted childishly as he eyed the problem. "You _vill_ make sense," he told the equation, knowing full well it wouldn't talk back. Nonetheless his violet eyes narrowed before he turned to leave for a much needed lunch break.

Closing the door behind him, his stomach grumbled. "I really hope Collette is cooking today," he mumbled. Unlike Ivan's other 'companions', Collette was originally from France and could actually cook. Not that he didn't like British food or anything…he just preferred _not_ to get horrific food poisoning.

Ivan pushed open the wooden door to the kitchen and delicious scents wafted around him. His eyes were drawn to the petite figure gently swaying at he stove. A simply green dress clung to Collette's slender waist, tied delicately around her with a brown apron. Her naturally highlighted blond hair was pulled into a loose bun, a few stray hairs still lingering to frame a middle-aged face. Occasionally, she would push a few aside as she absentmindedly stirred the stew in the pot.

_Thank you God! _Ivan thought to himself as he knocked on the doorframe, making the woman aware of his presence.

"Ivan! Mon petit chou! Come, sit down, lunch is almost ready."

Ivan's brow twitched in annoyance and embarrassment at the woman's overly buoyant displays of affection, but kept his smile strong. "Thank you, I appreciate you cooking Collette."

She giggled at how awkward her name sounded behind that thick Russian accent. "De rien, you know I enjoy cooking, and besides, I couldn't let you eat whatever slop _they_ had intended to feed you."

He chuckled. "Again, thank you. You may very well have saved my life."

"Indeed," she said with a sly grin. "Anyway, how are your studies coming along?"

Ivan grit his teeth, remembering the horrendous equation. "Great."

Collette raised an eyebrow at him. "Math is still giving you trouble I take it."

_Curse her ability to read minds_. "Da, it is."

The Frenchwoman flashed him a comforting smile as she ladled out generous portions of the stew into worn-looking bowls. "It will only get better Ivan. It just takes practice."

The Russian merely grunted in response. _I highly doubt that._ Collette shot him a skeptical look before setting the food down in front of him. The two ate in comfortable silence, the only sound being the dull clack of spoons on dishware. When they were done, Collette gathered the dishes and proceeded to wash them. It was then that Ivan took his leave, only pausing in the doorway for a moment at the sound of Collette's voice.

"Have fun at mass."

"Da, of course," he stated before leaving the room and heading for the sanctuary.

To an ordinary person, mass was long and painfully dull, as most church functions are perceived to be. However the teen found it to be the most peaceful part of his day. Quietly listening and gently humming the nameless hymns. Time seemed to blur together, making him almost sad it had to end, but the afternoon was over and it was time for dinner.

Skipping the painful task of having to socialize with people, Ivan carried his plate up to his room, thanking Collette once again for cooking the meal.

As he ate, he lay sprawled out on his stomach on his bed, an odd look for someone his size. The math textbook lay open next to his food. The fork rested in his mouth as he scrunched up his nose, his eyebrows pulling together in deep frustration. When he could take it no more, the Russian scowled, throwing his fork at his now-empty plate. Grabbing the offending object, Ivan stormed out of the room and downstairs into John's study.

An antique-looking light fixture in the far corner to Ivan's left dimly lighted the small, red room. Various papers and books littered the space, all surrounding a large wooden desk where sat Pastor John. His aged form was slumped over the oak table, eyes gliding across thin, holy pages.

When Ivan entered the room, he did not wait for the man to notice his presence before holding up his mathematics textbook and stating, "I refuse to take part in this Satan worship any longer."

Father John grinned warily, setting down his Bible. "What did you get stuck on this time?"

Ivan's face went black as he bit his tongue in a weak attempt to control his temper. He simply walked over, placing the textbook on the desk and pointed to the page that lay open. The elderly man scanned the contents of which Ivan was struggling with and sighed. "Well here's your first problem…"

The remainder of the evening was spent in father John's study. The holy man, a surprisingly good teacher, guided Ivan through the concepts, which had eluded him before. Finally, Ivan sleepily made his way back up to his closet/room and, without even changing his clothes, quickly fell asleep.

-o-

It was the thunder that woke Ivan. He groggily sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes and groaned softly. Another loud crash echoed throughout the church. Ivan shakily stood on sleep-tired legs, practically stumbling toward his door. He adjusted his clothing as he walked down the hall, pausing to look out the small window.

The world looked completely black, all that could be heard was the rain viciously hammering into the earth and the claps of insanely loud thunder.

Blindly making his way downstairs, he went to the kitchen and over to the faucet to grab a glass of water. That's when he heard the knock. It was surprising he could hear the faint sound over Mother Nature's commotion, but when he did he paused. His body began to cautiously move when he heard the knock again into the deserted hallway. Ivan bypassed several rooms until he came to the empty sanctuary, his quiet footsteps echoing off the stonewalls. A third knock was heard, this time more frantic.

Ivan pulled open the great wooden door, a rather forceful gust of wind helping him in the process. Rain poured all around outside, pounding into the ground relentlessly, making the earth a muddy mess. The church steps were glossy and slippery from water, there being nothing to protect them from the downpour. Ivan's eyes widened at the sight of just what was standing on them.

Drenched golden hair framed a half-hidden, pale face. A revealing, red dress clung to a slender and trembling figure. Arms had wrapped themselves around each other to protect from the biting monsoon weather and the body itself concaved to create a pitiful appearance. Ivan's mouth ran dry when a pair of piercing violet eyes shot up to meet his, and a sweet yet soft voice rang out above the storm.

"May I come in?"

FINALLY! Anyway, let start of by saying that this is NOT fem!Canada. I don't do genderbends. I think I have some explaining to do concerning Ivan's slight out of characterness: I always see fics where Ivan is the corrupt bastard and Matthew is the sweet innocent one (not that I don't love those, I'm just saying that's usually how it goes down) Anyway, I wanted to see what it would be like if I switched those around a little. Don't worry, he will be more in character as the story goes on, once a certain Canadian fucks everything up XD. So yeah. I was not at all pleased with this chapter but nonetheless, PLEASE REVIEW! I need to know how to get better and that is the only way! SO PLESE! READ AND REVIEW!


	3. Chapter 2: Red Like 'Her' Sins

Well that chapter went by a lot faster…HUZZAH! Yeah, today you guys get plot…sort of. May I start off by saying I suck at describing emotional tension, so please bear with me. Also, things get a bit…frisky in this chapter so there's your warning. No smut yet, just, yeah. I probably should have said this earlier, but this fic was inspired by a song called 'Goin' Down' by The Pretty Reckless. Check it out.

**Also! For the first part to clear up any confusion, Ivan refers to Matthew as 'her' in the beginning because he doesn't know he's guy. Again, no chick Canada.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, just this fanfic.**

-o-

"_May I come in?"_

The sound of her voice broke him out of his momentary trance. He blinked a few times and shakily opened the door to beckon her in. "Yes, please come in."

Desperate gratitude rang through her voice as she stepped past the threshold. "Thank you."

Ivan couldn't take his eyes off her. The striking familiarity shook him, turning his brain and tongue to mush. Finally he managed to say, "Please, c-come this way. There are some towels in the back…we can get you dried off."

She meekly nodded to him, avoiding eye contact. "Yes thank you," she said again.

Ivan shut the door and studied her more intently. The girl's hair, although wet, was about chin length and wavy. A wayward curl stuck out, proving to be untamed, even by the storm. Her high cheekbones and supple lips gave her a beautiful and almost regal look. Her violet eyes looked at him with a soft, yet scared expression that seemed to plead with Ivan with every glance.

She wore a rather skimpy, red silk dress, cutting low on her oddly flat chest and riding high to expose milky thighs adorned with torn black stockings. The shoes she carried, he realized, were red stilettos, which were apparently broken due to the fact that the heel was missing on one. Yet in all this, the girl managed to not seem trashy. To Ivan, she was just downright beautiful.

"What's your name?" he asked, his voice sounding hoarse.

"Matthew." Came the sweet reply.

It took everything Ivan had in him to not let his jaw hit the floor. _It's a man?_ A few minutes passed while Ivan attempted to regain his voice, all the while Matthew stared at him in confusion.

"Oh," he answered dumbly. "T-this way…" he said, leading the stranger down a dark hallway. When they came to the right door, Ivan quietly opened it, turning on the small light in the corner.

The room had sparse furnishings; a chair, a bed, a bedside table with a lamp, and a small dresser to put clothes in. The room was usually used for young priests on missionary trips, but the Russian figured it to be a good place as any to house their strange guest.

Ivan gestured awkwardly for Matthew to come in. "Hold on I'll get you a towel."

He went into the conjoining room, a bathroom, and opened the cabinet below the sink. He grabbed the nearest towel and swiftly handed it to Matthew. The towel wasn't five-star quality, but it would soak up water.

The boy mumbled another 'thank you' and sat on the bed and began drying off. Ivan eyed him intently as Matthew ruffled the towel around his hair in a weak attempt to stop it from dripping.

Ivan sat in the chair adjacent from the bed and positioned it toward his guest. They sat in silence for a long while, before Ivan suddenly cleared his throat. "Where are you from?" he asked.

Matthew looked up, forcing a small smile onto his lips. "Oh, I'm from the neighboring town just outside the forest."

"Why are you all the way out here?"

Matthew's eyes darkened a bit, his smiling turning downward into a frown. "I…ran away."

"Oh…" Ivan thought it best not to pry too much, sensing the danger of the subject. His eyes shifted nervously, almost afraid to speak to the mysterious person. "If I may ask…way are you…"

"Dressed like this?" Ivan's head shot up, revealing the rather large grin on Matthew's face. He simply nodded in return. "I can get away with a lot more when dressed like this." Matthew's grin widened as he eyed Ivan. "Why? Do you think I look terrible in it?"

"Nyet!" he said a little too loudly. He coughed again awkwardly. "N-no, I don't think that at all."

Matthew giggled at Ivan's behavior. _He obviously doesn't get out much,_ the blond thought.

Ivan inwardly berated himself for being so uncomfortable around the other man, but images of his dreams flashed through his mind, making him uncharacteristically shaky. He filled the silence once more. "How old are you?"

Matthew raised an eyebrow, scanning over Ivan with that same grin on his face. "I'm 16," he stated evenly.

Ivan's eyes widened. Now that he looked closer, Matthew did seem a bit young; however the way he held himself seemed much more mature. "You're only 16 and you ran away? Aren't your parents worried?"

For a split second, a sour look consumed Matthew's face before he shook it off and chuckled lightly. There was a pause, and then, "Do you consider yourself a holy man, sir?"

The blond was taken aback by the question, but answered earnestly. "I consider myself faithful to my religion, if that's what you mean."

Matthew hummed in response and was silent for a while before seemingly coming to a decision. "Well then, I believe I have a sin to confess."

"I'm afraid I'm not the one you should confide in. I merely live here; I am by no means a pastor. But if you're willing to wait till sunrise I can get Father John." Ivan stood from his seat. "I have to inform him of your presence anyway."

The Russian was about to head for the door, when a hand reached out and clutched the hem of his shirt.

"Please…don't leave me."

Ivan's violet eyes widened as he slowly sat back into the chair. Matthew's hand still held firm to his clothes, knuckled clenched to white. Unsure of what to do he reached out to touch the hand. But as soon as his finger grazed the blond's, Matthew was on the floor, on his knees, holding tightly to Ivan's hand.

"Please, just listen to what I have to say."

"O-okay, but I still don't think-"

Matthew squeezed Ivan's hand. "Please." He wasn't asking anymore. Every part of the boy demanded Ivan to stay right where he was, and listen.

The Russian's voice was subconsciously lowered to a dull whisper. "What have you done?"

Matthew's voice became even quieter than his, almost ominously so. "I killed someone."

Those words hung in the air, freezing his blood and making Ivan's pulse quicken to intense speeds. Matthew's face was hidden by his hair, his breathing low and deliberate. Ivan tried to pry his hand from the other's grasp only to have Matthew tighten his grip, digging his nails into Ivan's flesh.

He repeated shakily. "I killed my boyfriend."

Ivan was almost afraid to ask. "Why?"

Matthew's voice became clam and stony, yet so quiet Ivan could barely hear it. "I didn't want to, I just…I caught him in bed with that _whore_ and…I just couldn't stop myself." There was a long pause, their breath the only sound in the room. The younger blond then rested his forehead on the elder's hands, which were still clasped tightly in his own. "What should I do?"

Ivan's voice was caught in his throat. He was torn between racing down the hall to call the police and reaching out to stroke the other's golden hair to comfort him. Finally, he spoke in a calculating manner in an attempt to hide the torrent of emotions he was feeling. "Ask for forgiveness. That's all you can do at this point. Just say you're sorry."

A hand quit suddenly shot up to grab the collar of Ivan's shirt, pulling his face down so that his nose was just centimeters away from Matthew's. A malicious smirk was betrayed by the singe tear that rolled down the blond's cheek. "That's the thing though, I don't regret it. I'm _not_ sorry."

The Russian's lips pressed into a line, his eyes becoming sad. He took the hand that grabbed his collar and pried it easily from the fabric, holding onto it lightly. "Then there's nothing I can do for you," he stated simply.

He got up once more, turning to leave the room when Matthew spoke again. "Please, don't call the police. I just need a place to stay for a few days."

"I'm sorry, we can not do that. Neither Father John nor I are willing to put this church at risk. I suggest you pack your things and leave." Ivan felt a pang of guilt as he spoke those words. Despite all rhyme and reason, he wanted the stranger to stay.

For a moment, Matthew's expression could only be described as desperate, however not seconds later that look was masked by the internal shields Ivan could literally see Matthew building.

An almost sickening smile graced Matthew's lips as he stalked over to where Ivan stood. "I understand," he said, stopping directly in front of the Russian and putting a delicate hand on his chest. "But allow me to thank you for all you've done so far." That hand began to slide lightly over the area, causing Ivan to concave uncomfortably.

"Pardon?"

Without another word, Ivan was pushed back into the chair, his weight nearly making the object tip back. A predatory and almost condescending smirk consumed Matthew's face was Ivan looked at him bewildered. He then did the unthinkable, straddling the Russian's lap and placing caressing hands onto Ivan's shoulders.

Ivan's heart was pounding, his brain refusing to think straight and control of his accent be damned. "Vhat are you doing?"

Matthew simply giggled at the mispronunciation and ignored his question. He leaned forward, breathing hot air down Ivan's neck and whispering huskily in his ear. "Perhaps there is something that we could work out?"

Cold realization washed over Ivan as the teen began placing biting kisses along his exposed neck, tasting the tender flesh. He bit back a moan, his breath quickening, he threw up his hands unsure of what to do with them.

Without distracting himself from his task, Matthew took Ivan's hands and placed them on his hips, which were now rocking back and forth, grinding against Ivan's still-clothed groin.

The Russian shook his head in an attempt to regain his senses, slowly inching away from the alluring teen atop him. "N-no, ve can't do this…" he gasped.

Matthew looked at him with all-too-innocent confusion. "Why, have you never done this before?" Ivan simply stared at him wide-eyed, clearly answering his question. "Oh well that's alright," he purred, inching closer to his face. "I'll teach you what to do." Matthew pressed his lips to Ivan's, working them, trying to coax the older teen's mouth open.

_Nyet, this is wrong, _Ivan thought, anger boiling within him. He felt utterly disgusted, though with whom, he did not know. His body's natural reactions worked against his common sense and judgment as Matthew continued to touch him in way he had only dreamt of before. The rage swelled inside him, causing him to tighten his grip on Matthew's slender hips, who then gasped in pain.

Some creature inside of Ivan decided he like that sound, but he fought it off, burying it along with all the other sinfully lustful emotions that coursed through veins.

In a burst of anger, Ivan pushed Matthew to the ground, simultaneously standing himself. "No!" he all but screamed. His towering form now stood over a shocked and frightened Matthew. His fists and jaw clenched, there was a silence that seemed to last for an eternity. When the red pangs of anger subsided, Ivan shook his head, muttering nonsensical words under his breath. Finally, he returned his gaze toward Matthew, who still sat frozen on the ground. "Stay here," he commanded, spinning on his heel and rushing out of the room.

Ivan left Matthew to sit in stunned silence. The smaller blond didn't dare move from that spot, instead he stayed in his place on the floor. He wrapped his arms around his knees, forgoing decency in his revealing garb. He sat there numbing every shred of emotion he had, just as he had done for the past three days. There was a faint buzzing in the back of his skull, adrenaline subsiding a fading into exhaustion. After what felt like a lifetime of listening to his own heartbeat, a quiet knock on the doorframe woke him from his empty thoughts.

Ivan stood in the doorway once more, a cautious yet guilty look in his eyes. He strode over to Matthew and held something out to him, all the while refusing to look at him. The blond on the floor looked up, not fully processing the scene before him.

"Clothes," Ivan said. "They may not suit your tastes, but they're dry."

Matthew took them without a word.

Ivan continued. "I apologize for what happened earlier. I shouldn't have lost my temper," he stated, very unused to the words escaping his lips.

Matthew looked up at him rigidly. "I should apologize as well," he paused. "I haven't been myself lately."

The Russian nodded and an empty silence filled the room. Ivan had so many things he wanted to say at once, whereas Matthew had very little on his mind at all. It was he who broke the silence. "Did you call the police?" he asked solemnly.

"No," Ivan answered, causing a sense of shock to settle over Matthew. He continued, "You can stay the night here if you wish. We cannot offer much, but its something. The only thing we- or I ask for in return are answers. I want to know what's happened to you, and I mean everything. I want to know why you're so troubled."

Matthew just stared at him, gratitude and fear quarreling within him.

Ivan spoke once more. "I think its time I bid you good night."

"Wait!" Ivan stopped. "I-I never got your name," Matthew called weakly.

"Ivan," he answered. "Ivan Braginsky."

The blond spoke to him again in a soft voice. "Matthew. Matthew Williams," he said.

Ivan simply nodded with a small smile and shut the door, leaving Matthew alone for the night.


	4. Chapter 3: Unintentional Bonding

**I am a despicable human being…I cant believe I waited THIS long to post a chapter! My severe apologies to those who read this (**_**does**_** anyone read this?). Anyway, guys, I NEED REVIEWS! Seriously, I am whoring for reviews, they inspire me! I cant write if I'm not inspired…which is partially why this one took so long *headdesk*. Thank you to all (like one) who did review and I really hope you like the new chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of its characters…please don't sue me, I need that money for college. **

**-o-**

"**You did **_**what**_**?"**

"**It's just for a few days, and besides, I already told him he could stay. We can't turn him away now, Father!" Ivan's voice rose as he pleaded with Father John, his large hands resting on the edge of the man's desk. Those eyes began to burn a hole into said man's skull.**

**John's aged hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose; contemplating the situation the reckless teen had gotten them into. "Ivan, this church is low on funding as it is, we can't afford to take in random people off the streets."**

"**What was I supposed to do? Leave him to fend for himself? I think not…"**

"**It is not your decision to make!" the priest said sternly.**

**Ivan bit his tongue, letting out a deep breath. A poisonous smile spread across his face as a purple aura seemed to surround his very being. "I completely understand Father," came his voice, sickeningly sweet. Ivan was pissed. **

**Father John maintained his unyielding gaze, quite used to the teen's antics. "Ivan, don't be like this. You know perfectly well I would welcome this boy with open arms if I could, but we simply can't afford it right now."**

**The Russian clenched his jaw. "Till the end of the week." He paused. "That's all I'm asking."**

**Brown orbs met with fiery violet ones and stared for a long while. The tension seemed to last for a lifetime, neither willing to give ground on the subject. Finally, the elder asked quietly, "Why does this boy mean so much to you?"**

**Ivan's eyes lowered, his mouth opening to unleash words he had not yet thought of. His eyes glanced back up again, excuse glimmering in their depths, but John put a hand up to silence him. A thick quiet hung in the long pause, putting the teen on edge. **

"**The end of the week." John finally said. **

**Ivan's head shot up. "V-vhat?"**

"**He can stay till the end of the week, though it is against my better judgment."**

**Ivan brightened considerably, nodding as he headed for the door. He was stopped by the voice that called out to him. "But Ivan, if anything goes wrong, it's yours to deal with." The Russian nodded yet again at those foreboding words, and walked out the door.**

**Ivan hurried up the stairs and down the hallway toward his room. He shut the door quickly, pressing his back to the hard wood as he ran a hand through his frazzled hair, combing out the various tangles. Ivan allowed his eyes to become droopy from total lack of sleep. How **_**could**_** he have slept? He had spent the entire night tossing and turning, thinking about the morbidly promiscuous blond down stairs. His mind tore him in two. Between the striking familiarities of the petite teen to the horrible truth behind his runaway, Ivan's brain had pretty much been on autopilot throughout the whole ordeal. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Matthew. Memories flew through his mind of the previous night. The intimate contact, the soft, yet disturbing words gently whispered in his ear…**

"**Nyet." Distance was key in this situation. Who knows what would happen if he got too close? Matthew was leaving at the end of the week, and then he'd be gone; out of his life forever. And that was how it should be. **

**He suddenly sprung into action, riffling through his dresser and through his limited wardrobe. It was then that he realized that he hadn't changed since yesterday morning. Quickly grabbing another pair of brown slacks and a fresh white shirt, the Russian began to strip. He tried to avoid thought so as to not think of Matthew. However in removing his shirt, he couldn't help but remember how soft fingers had danced along the hemline of the old fabric, flicking lightly over his warm skin- **

**He shook his head. This clearly wasn't working. However on that note, after dressing himself, he opened the dresser once more, pulling out a smaller gray shirt and the only pair of jeans he owned. He promptly ran down stairs, dashing past the series of unoccupied rooms, until he came to the right one. He paused outside the oak door only for a moment to catch his breath. Ivan hesitantly opened it, peering in at its inhabitants.**

**The sunrise was beginning to peek through the small window etched into the wall, letting in yellow sunlight to create patterns throughout the room. Violet eyes drifted over to the bed where Matthew lay in peaceful sleep.**

**Blond hair hung messily in his face, casing pink cheeks. He lay curled up in a ball, hugging the pillow that was meant for his head close to his chest. At the noise of the opening door, the younger teen mumbled dreamily, nuzzling the squished pillow with his nose. **_**Cute…**_

**The Russian crept into the room, his hulking form drifting silently to the bedside. He reached out a hand and gently nudged Matthew's shoulder. "M-Matthew…"**

**The boy didn't stir. **

"**Matthew, wake up."**

**Yet again, the sleeping form did not move, fueling Ivan's impatience as he shook Matthew harder. **

"**Vake up, Matvey." He said sternly. **

**Matthew bolted upright, his eyes wide. Second passed as he took in his surroundings, memories seeming to fly past those mauve orbs. He brought his exposed knees up to his chest before lifting his gaze to stare at Ivan.**

**At the sight of the 17 tear old, an emotional mask quite visibly settled onto Matthew's tired visage. A weary, yet kind smile placed itself onto his lips. "Good morning," he all but whispered. **

**Ivan was at a loss for words for a moment, caught in the sheer adorableness of the blonde's aura, his hand still resting on his shoulder. His words came out in mumbles. "Good morning." Ivan cursed himself for his awkwardness. "I brought you a change of clothes." He handed Matthew the bundle in his arms, who took the offering graciously, murmuring a quiet 'thank you' as he did so. Matthew then stood up, his bare legs wobbling a bit as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. **

**Ivan took in the sight, pink rising to his cheeks. His t-shirt hung loose and baggy on the petite 16 year old, the hem of it softly brushing against his mid-thigh. The rest of him remained unclothed, his beautiful pale skin soaking up the morning light. **

**The Russian didn't attempt to hide his stares when he spoke. "W-why are you…um…" He gestured to Matthew's lack of pants with his eyes. **

"**Oh, it got really hot last night, so I took the pants off," he replied nonchalantly. **

**Ivan nodded vaguely. "If you don't mind me asking, why didn't you just take off the blanket?" A sardonic tone laced a few of his words. **

**Matthew's eyebrows dragged together a little while the corners of his lips twitched upward. "I generally can't sleep without covers."**

"**Well physically you **_**can**_**, you just chose not to." Ivan sported a good-humored grin, which accompanied his sarcasm. **

**Matthew deadpanned, forcing down a smile. "…yeah."**

**This was far too fun. "Still afraid of the dark?"**

"**Tais-toi!" Matthew laughed, throwing a pillow in Ivan's general direction. **

**The Russian let out a low chuckle, which then turned to curiosity. "You speak French?"**

**The younger teen's lips closed, a more docile smile glossing over that happy façade. "Yes, a lot of my family is French."**

"**Oh really?" Ivan became increasingly interested, sitting down and locking eyes with Matthew.**

**The other began pulling on the jeans he was given, which proved to be far too big for him, making him thankful for the belt that had been provided. He shyly looked up between his task and the seated boy before him. "Oui, I lived in Quebec for a long time with my mother. I was born there."**

"**You're Canadian?" When he nodded, Ivan continued. "Why did you move to England?"**

**At this, a twinge of sadness intermixed with mauve irises, a rueful smile crowning his lips. "My mother got very sick and died about a year ago. After that I went to live with my, **_**father. **_**He was originally from Paris, but moved here due to his work." **

**Ivan noticed Matthew's bitter inflection when speaking of his Parisian father, taking mental note of it as a sensitive subject. "I'm sorry," was all he could say. A dull silence fell about the room, neither man really aware of it, lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Ivan said, "What was her name?"**

**Matthew looked up in shock. His voice wavered slightly. "Madeline Williams."**

**Ivan grinned kindly. "Beautiful name."**

**The Canadian finally put on the shirt he was given, deep in thought. "She was a beautiful woman," he replied sadly. He pushed the wayward curl that hung in his face softly behind his ear, pink tongue peeking out to wet chapped lips. The sadness written on his face was almost unbearable to Ivan. **

"**I apologize for bringing up such a painful matter," he said, a pang of guilt washing over him. **

"**It's okay, you're oddly…easy to talk to," came the hesitant reply.**

**At this statement, Ivan felt his face heat up, 98% sure it was a deep crimson by now. "T-thank you. You as well."**

**Matthew giggled a bit, finding the giant's awkward embarrassment rather cute. He opened his mouth to say something when his stomach growled quite loudly.**

**This time, it was Ivan's turn to laugh, causing Matthew to hit him lightly on the shoulder. "How about we get something to eat, da? Its almost lunch time as it is," the Russian suggested. Getting a small nod in return, Ivan led Matthew through the old hallway; which was now brightly lit due to the day, letting the Canadian take in his surroundings. **

**The hall itself was made primarily out of stone, adding to the church's overall gothic feel. All of the doors were paneled wood with iron doorknobs that looked like they belonged in a medieval prison.**

_**Well this **_**is**_** a church, not much of a difference, is there? **_**He thought bitterly to himself. The teen chuckled at his own inner joke, causing Ivan to glance over his shoulder questioningly. Matthew simply shrugged at him and continued walking down the hall.**

**Rounding the corner at that moment came a woman wearing a simple yet elegant blue dress, her blond hair pulled back into a long ponytail. Although she looked to be middle aged, she had a lively spring to her step as she hummed a light tune to herself. **

**Upon seeing her, Ivan greeted her warmly. "Ah, good morning Collette. It **_**is**_** still morning, isn't it?" he joked. **

**The woman's brown eyes lit up at the sound of the Russian's highly accented voice. "Ivan! How are…"**

**Collette's gaze shifted from Ivan to Matthew. With in that instant her expression changed from over zealous joy, to pure disgust and loathing. She raised a long finger and pointed at the young blond. "**_**You!**_**" she spat. **

**Ivan stared in confusion at Matthew, who looked utterly bewildered, paling at the woman's harsh and unspoken accusation. "Oh dear god."**


	5. Chapter 4: Odd Connections

Yo peoples! So here's the new chapter! I hope you find it…interesting, at the very least anyway. A huge thanks for the reviews guys! And honestly…I don't have a whole lot to say right now. So I hope you enjoy! Btw though, I don't own Hetalia in any way, shape, or from, so don't sue and shite.

-o-

The Frenchwoman fumed, her slender frame quaking with rage as she glared at the retreating Canadian.

"Oh dear god," he said, voice cracking slightly as he did so. He did a side step behind Ivan when Collette started for him.

"Francis Bonnefoy you lecherous son of a-"

"Collette we're in church!" Ivan reminded her, putting his hands up to stop her from killing Matthew.

"Hush child, you know not what this man has done!" She promptly dragged the teen out from behind the Russian and began smacking him in the most girly way possible, hitting him upside the head and on the shoulder in more of a 'cat-fight' type style.

"Ow, Collette! I'm not Francis! I'm his son, Matthew, remember?" Within that split second, Collette's face lit up. She sprung forward, wrapping Matthew's blond head in her arms, pressing him tightly to her breast.

"Mathieu! Mon lapin sucré, je suis _très_ desolé! My, how you've grown! You've become such a handsome young man, just like your father, if he were to shave anyway," she said, tracing his smooth jaw line with a long finger.

Matthew, stunned, eventually worked his arms around the woman's waist. He spoke wide-eyed and flatly. "Papa shaves?"

Collette paused. "On rare and few occasions."

Meanwhile, Ivan stood there with a metaphorical question mark hanging over his head. "Um…" He raised his hand. "Does anyone care to explain what's going on?" The duo looked over in shock, having momentarily forgotten about the Russian's presence. Matthew then broke from the embrace, his cheeks turning a shade pinker.

He cleared his throat, suddenly finding the wall very interesting. "My Papa and Collette used to date."

"Unfortunately." She added sourly.

Ivan's eyebrow upturned skeptically at her inflection. "So this 'Francis' man is really that bad, huh?"

"Oui," They answered in unison. Ivan stared rather bewildered at the two, not sure what to say to that. Matthew huffed and crossed his arms while providing him with answers.

"Papa is the biggest letch in all of England, maybe even all of France. Collette was one of the unfortunate few who fell prey to his notorious 'French charm'." Ivan nodded in vague understanding, his eyes shifting uncertainly between the two before him.

"'Unfortunate _few_'?" Collette scoffed. "I don't know of a single woman in town who hasn't seen the underneath of Francis' sheets." She practically spat her words, her thick accent portraying her mood perfectly.

Matthew's mauve eyes went dark, his nails digging into his flesh as he curled his hands into fists. "Though it's not _just _women," he mumbled dangerously under his breath. For an instant, Collette looked over to him worriedly, before a voice interrupted the group.

"You two may be French, but you have the vengeance of a Brit." Father John stood at the end of the hall, a calm yet cynical air about him. All three stood in the corridor silently, their tongues tied, each having their own reasons for why words failed them. Taking a beat, John stepped toward Matthew, extending his hand in a friendly manner. "You must be the boy Ivan spoke of. Welcome."

The petite Canadian wrapped a slender hand around the clergyman's, and gave him a fake, but warm smile. "Thank you, I appreciate you allowing me to stay here. My name's Matthew Williams," he said politely.

"Pleasure to meet you, I am Father John Cambell. Though I didn't have much of a choice. Ivan was very…_adamant_ about your stay, so we're glad to have you."

"Oh really." Matthew stated, casting a sidelong glance in Ivan's direction, making him shift uncomfortably as a faint blush rose to his face.

John inspected the two through old, yet playful eyes, a grin creeping onto his thin lips. "Well you seem to be a very nice boy, so feel free to make yourself at home for the time being. I'm sure a lot of us will be sad to see you go by the end of the week." He gave the Russian an all-knowing look, who returned it by narrowing his eyes in a silent defense. Ivan's very being seemed to scream: 'say one more word old man, and I'll splatter your brains on the pavement'. John suppressed a series of giggles. All the while, Matthew stared amusedly between the two, paying no heed to the tension growing around him.

"Well!" Collette interjected. "Mathieu, you must be starving mon cher. Let's get you something to eat," she said, locking his arms with hers, pulling him away from the group. As they left the other two men, Collette leaned in closer, bringing her voice to a low whisper. "Please tell me the rumors I've been hearing in town aren't true. You would never do such a thing…would you?" The sense of urgency in her voice was almost frightening.

Matthew simply smiled, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly. "You have nothing to worry about. They're all lies."

Collette deflated, relieved, and brought the teen in for a tight hug. "Dieu merci." Matthew dropped the façade as she clutched him firmly, frowning into her shoulder. Collette pulled away, tears glistening in her eyes. "Desolé mon cher, I'm just worried for you that's all." She ran her fingers through the golden tendrils that hung in Matthew's face. "Lets get you some food, d'accord?"

He smiled. "Oui."

-o- 

The two men stared at each other persistently, Ivan incensed and refusing to meet the other's eye, and John with crossed arms and a snarky grin on his face. The pastor sighed, scratching his balding head while Ivan's fingers drummed relentlessly against his arm.

John broke the silence, laughter seeping out of every word. "You know I've always kind of wondered-"

"_Don't_ go there."

"I'd be lying if I said it was a surprise."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

John shot him a look. "I'm old Ivan, not senile. Nor am I naïve by any stretch of the imagination."

The boy grit his teeth, in the furthest reaches of denial. "It's…nothing. Just a phase, that's all."

"Ivan I've seen the way you look at that boy, and that is _not_ nothing." The other remained quiet, encouraging the old man to continue. He spoke softer now, his expression turning to one of comfort. "Son…" This grabbed Ivan's full attention. "We've all moved with the times. There's nothing wrong with it. It's who you are, and if the Lord chose that path for you, then so be it. Embrace it," he said, patting Ivan on the shoulder. The teen stood there, aggressively pensive as he looked out the small window toward the greenery of the forest. John's brow quirked up, his playful demeanor returning. "And besides, even from a 'straight' point of view that Matthew boy _was_ rather good looking. You know, if you like the girly foreigner type…"

Then Ivan shot a look that made even the impish clergyman shut his mouth…then burst out laughing. Ivan watched the man in derision before his laughter filled the halls as well.

"Well I'm glad we've got that settled." John said. "Now I must go. I have churchly paperwork to fill out and holy duties I must fulfill. Have fun with Mr. Williams!" he said with a wink. The pastor turned to leave, then stopped. "Just…not too much fun…" And then he was gone, leaving Ivan in the stillness of the deserted hallway.

Ivan's mind lingered on last night's events causing a blush to spread across his face. "Da…'fun'." He then willed his feet to move, edging toward the old kitchen. His thoughts consumed him, and he soon found himself lost in his own internal questions. _It's…not wrong…? Do I…_Am_ I…? _He pushed open the wooden door, lifting his head and surveying the scene.

Matthew, the source of all his confusion and disarray, sat at the small table licking some sort of sticky substance off a spoon. The Canadian ran his tongue over the silver surface, lapping up what appeared to be some sort of syrup, his soft face beautifully twisted in ecstasy. Ivan found himself _really _wanting to be that spoon. He began faintly nodding his head to himself while watching Matthew's pink tongue flick over the smooth metal. _Da, I'm definitely gay._ He sat across from the teen, whose eyes were closed, and watched him wiggle in his seat like a child with a treat. Ivan couldn't help but find it adorably alluring. _Gay…I suppose I could get used to that._ He cleared his throat, making Matthew's wonderful 'performance' come to an end. Mauve orbs widened and the spoon was slowly lowered to the table, Matthew clearly embarrassed at having been caught in such a state.

"Sorry if I interrupted something…" he said, his sardonic tone surprising even himself.

Matthew bit his lip, fighting back a sly grin. "Not at all," he said flatly. The Canadian let out a dry chuckle. "Though I suppose I'm lucky, if Gil had caught me like this he probably would have made some smartass sexual comment."

"And who is 'Gil'?"

Matthew stopped, realizing he had just said that out loud. Suddenly Collette, whom Ivan had just noticed was in the room, interjected. "Gilbert was Mathieu's lover." Her voice became sad almost to the point of pity. "He was quite recently murdered though, poor thing.

Ivan mutely gasped and glanced at Matthew, whose eyes looked distressed and regretful. The Russian's interest was peaked. "A-and how exactly was he killed?" he asked, prying deeper.

Collette looked uneasily at Matthew before continuing. "Well the police won't tell us much, but supposedly they found is corpse completely mutilated and-"

"Collette…s'il vous plait…" Tears rolled delicately down Matthew's cheeks, his slender frame trembling a bit.

The Frenchwoman leaned down, embracing him once more. "Desolé mon lapin."

Ivan remained hushed. He watched as Collette stroked Matthew's blond hair and left the room, gesturing for him to follow. But Ivan shook his head and she swiftly made off without another word.

After a few moments of silence, Matthew sighed and began wiping away his fake tears. Ivan exhaled in disbelief. The younger teen merely shrugged and pulled a jar closer to him. Said jar was filled to the brim with maple syrup, which Ivan assumed was what he had been eating earlier.

Matthew popped another spoonful onto his tongue. "So," he said, mouth still full of sugary goodness.

Ivan's mouth felt dry, but he tried to remain serious. "We need to talk."

Matthew shifted in his chair. "Okay…"

"As per our agreement, you have to answer all my questions." There was a pause. "Why did you kill Gilbert?"

-o-

Translations:

_Mathieu! Mon lapin sucré, je suis très desolé!-_ Matthew! My sweet bunny, I am very sorry! (Please note that _sucré _literally means sweet as in 'sugary'. Sure that might imply dirty shit, but hey, she's French.)

_Oui-_ Yes

_Dieu__ merci-_ Thank God

_Mon cher-_ My dear

_D'acord- _Okay

_Da-_ Yes

_s'il__vous__ plait- _Please

**There! Hope you liked it! Remember REVIEWS ARE LOVE. **


	6. Chapter 5: Why

Are you guys excited? You finally get plot line! Well, hopefully a few questions answered at least. Anyway, here is my warning: this chapter may get rather sexual. There's also PruCan, but not for long~ *evil laughter* Don't say I didn't tell you. Because I just did. Okay, so you and I both know I don't own Hetalia, but I have to put this shite on here because I REALLY don't want to be sued. So there. I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

-o-

Matthew sighed, leaning back in his chair. He began drumming his now clean spoon against his bottom lip as if in rapt contemplation. Ivan stared at him expectantly, the anticipation that racked his body wildly apparent. The Canadian stared at him, serious, yet also mildly amused. "You can't tell anyone."

"I wont." Ivan said, barely audible.

He sighed yet again. "It's a rather long story…"

"I have time," Ivan countered.

Matthew raised an eyebrow. "It's a rather _graphic_ story."

The Russian hesitated. "I can handle it," he said, slightly unsure of himself.

Matthew held his gaze for a moment and Ivan found himself enamored with the intense storm that swam within those mauve orbs. Finally, Matthew dipped his spoon into the jar of maple syrup and ladled the golden liquid into his mouth, enclosing his lips around the utensil. He closed his eyes, relishing its overly sweet taste. Watching this, Ivan shifted impatiently in the uncomfortable stilted chair. When the blond slowly swallowed, he opened his eyes and began.

"I suppose I should start by saying that Gilbert and I had been dating for close to two years prior to the event. We met when I was working in a small, corner-shop library back in Quebec and he decided to purchase a particularly 'awesome' book on 'The History of the Crop'. Everything was awesome with Gilbert, especially anything to do with himself." Matthew stopped, smiling softly in his reverie. Ivan then decided he did not like Gilbert. Matthew continued. "But I guess that's why I admired him. His over zealous self-confidence was something I envied and his fabled 5 meters was a rumor that simply_ had_ to be explored. And before you say anything, yes, he referred to his package as his '5 meters'."

Ivan chuckled, beside himself, and gestured for Matthew to continue. The teen closed his eyes, suppressing a giggle of his own, but went on. "Anyway, we had been going out for a good two years, hands down, the longest relationship either of us had been in, something I prided myself on. He had even moved to England with us after Mom had died. He was practically part of the family…though in more ways than one I found out…

"I was running late for work that morning, and Gilbert had decided to drive me on his way to the garage. He worked as a part time mechanic to help pay the rent. You know, although Gilbert _was_ conceited most of the time, he could often times be very considerate when he wanted to be. The sky was fairly clear, a rarity for this time of year, but we could both tell a storm was coming. There was nothing particularly foreboding about that day, no warning to either of us of what might come.

"Gil's car pulled up to the library parking lot, parking in an especially inconvenient position for other drivers. He turned to me, his signature canine grin plastered to his almost vampiricly pale visage. 'Have fun at work, babe. Don't miss me too much.' I rolled my eyes and pulled on the red-checkered bandana that hung around his neck, pressing my lips to his in a chaste kiss. He attempted to further it, running his warm tongue over my lip, but I pulled away, causing him to groan in displeasure. I pushed his white bangs out of his face and kissed his forehead. 'I'll call you when my shift is over,' I said, all too adoringly.

"'See you later birdie,' he said. When I got out, I watched him speed away, waving as he rounded the corner, surpassing the speed limit by a lot. But that was how most days started for us; minor mishaps in the mornings, followed by shameless flirting and frequent sex in the evening…" Ivan coughed, interrupting Matthew's reminiscing. The younger teen shot him a look, which Ivan returned with an all too innocent stare. Matthew grinned and scooped up another spoonful of syrup.

He went on. "That specific day had gone by rather monotonously; organizing books accordingly, directing our regulars to the proper shelves, and having to deal with my boss yell at me for several reasons that basically translated to 'because I can'. However, if I had thought I could get off that easily, I was sorely mistaken. Some bratty kid had decided it would be loads of fun to knock over an eight-foot tall bookshelf right before I got off work. It was exactly 5:58 pm when I heard the crash and the simultaneous scream of my boss calling my name. I ran out to find the entire teen section in ruin. Books lay strewn everywhere about the room, some looking nearly destroyed from force of impact, their once pristine spines now cracked and bent. Bottom line: the place was a mess. And who had to clean it all up? Me. All me. No one else.

"I sighed to myself, and pulled out my cell phone. I was clearly not getting home on time. I dialed Gilbert's number, only to get the answering machine. _He's probably home by now,_ I had thought, so I decided to try the house phone as well. 'Bonjour Mathieu~,' a thick French accent purred into the phone. We were living with my Papa at the time. 'Are you coming home soon?' I took a deep breath, once again looking at the destroyed library.

"'Non Papa, that's why I called. Is Gilbert there? I need to talk to him,' There was a pause on the other end of the line. 'Oui, he is here, hang on~' I grinned, Papa was always so flamboyant. After a moment, my favorite German accent practically screamed from the other end of the line. 'Hey birdie! You comin' home yet?' I tried not to cry as I picked up a paperback copy of _The Book Thief_ by Markus Zusak that was literally bent in half. 'That's why I called. I fear I'll be…_detained_ longer than expected.'

"'…Why?' I grinned. I could practically hear the pout he was bound to be making at the moment. I continued to stack some decimated books as I answered. 'Some little bastard wrecked the library and my boss is making me clean it up.' Gilbert huffed on the other end. 'That is so unawesome.' I laughed. 'I know right? Anyway, I probably wont be home till later, so don't wait up for me, okay?' I could hear my Papa yell from somewhere in the room. 'Don't worry, mon petit enfin, I'll keep our little German friend company~.'

"I began yelling into the receiver playfully. 'How many times have I told you Papa, no molesting my boyfriend!' He simply laughed perversely, taking the phone from Gilbert who made a halfhearted sound of protest, quite used to our antics. 'Aw, but we could have so much fun. I could slather him in whipped cream and maple syrup and you could come home to a sugarcoated albino for dessert.' Gilbert could be heard off in the distance, trying to object to the topic of conversation. We both promptly ignored him. 'As tempting as that sounds Papa, I'd rather be the one doing the sugarcoating, if you don't mind-"

Matthew stopped his story, gazing at Ivan. The Russian was completely red-faced, his jaw clenched and large hands knotted into fists. Throughout the story, Ivan hadn't been entirely sure what certain things had meant, but he could definitely guess. His psyche created a film reel of images, all of which caused the blood to rush to his face, some angering him for many reasons that eluded him in his current state of mind. Matthew, watching this carefully, attempted to break him free of his trance.

"Shall I continue?" He said in a soft voice. Ivan stared at him for a moment, unsure of what he had gotten himself into. He wished to know the truth, that was clear, but with each word that poured from Matthew's lips, Ivan was learning new bounds of emotion. The mere mention of the name Gilbert now caused his blood to boil, jealousy burning every vein. This was not something he was used to. These new sensations disturbed Ivan, they seemed…malevolent. They awakened something in him that quite frankly scared him.

But he needed to know. "Da," he answered, letting the word hang in the air, a fateful decision made.

Matthew continued to stare at Ivan, seeming to judge his response prudently. "Alright." He got up, and placing the spoon in the sink, began to tell his tale once more. "After our _lovely _little phone chat came to an end, I began to clean the hodgepodge that was the library. I had told them that I probably wouldn't be home till very late that night (judging by the looks of it) and they really shouldn't wait up for me. God, I remember looking at those books, nearly crying. My mother had always had a love for books, and had beaten it into my head that they were to be well kept and respected. Countless memories of her reading books to me as a child flickered past my eyes as, one by one, I scooped up novel after novel, which were destined for the trash. Though I can say, I happily threw away the copious amounts of poorly written vampire novels that had tainted our shelves for so long. Even if most of them _were_ miraculously untouched. I can only guess what the faces of those deranged teenage girls looked like the next morning…but all this is beside the point. Two hours had passed since I had begun my cleaning adventures, when I heard a soft rapping at the glass double doors. My head shot up all too fast and I ended up dropping the majority of the books I was carrying. I swore under my breath, pushing my hair away from my face as I stooped down to pick up the objects that had just plunged to the floor. 'We're closed!' I yelled, not really wanting to deal with anyone anyway. A familiar voice echoed through the nearly empty space, slightly muffled through the thick material of the door. 'It's me, Matthew-san!' I immediately perked up at the sound of the Japanese accent and called over my shoulder, 'Oh, it's open!'

"Kiku Honda was the soft-spoken son of my boss, the owner of the library. They had quite recently moved here from Japan, and had become one of my only friends in town. We often times would hang out after hours, mostly due to the fact that he felt the need to apologize for his father's ignominious behavior. He was all in all a good guy, a little uptight, but always polite. He had stopped by to say hi that night as usual.

"Kiku stepped inside, his hand ruffling the back of his short black hair. Even though his family owned the place, he had always felt rather awkward setting foot in it considering he still couldn't read English very well. He took short but swift steps as he made his way toward the back to where I was standing, for some reason still in his pristine black school uniform. He was joined by two men, both very different in stature. The first I recognized as Kiku's best friend, Yao. Although Yao was Chinese, both he and Kiku had used the same exchange program, and apparently go way back. He flipped his ponytail-contained brown hair over his shoulder, nodding stiffly in my direction. He did not appear to be in the best of moods. Looking over at the second man, I saw why. To Kiku's right stood a tall, brown haired man with olive green eyes and (if I'm being completely honest) gorgeously tanned Mediterranean skin. He was the really hot Grecian painter that lived just down the street, Heracles. He waved a hand in my direction, which I almost missed while trying to develop x-ray vision in order to see the rock hard abs that were sure to be under his shirt. Now, it was a well-known fact to everyone _but_ Kiku, that both the Chinese man and the Greek wanted him, and therefore, the two of them weren't on the best of terms. My little Japanese friend on the other hand, was quite oblivious to this turmoil, and at the same time was confused himself about whether he was in love with his admittedly attractive childhood friend or the sexy Greek."

Ivan raised his hand, instantly feeling silly for doing so. Matthew stopped his gossip tangent, cocking is head to the side. "I have a question…" Matthew nodded for him to continue. "Is every man is your town gay?"

Matthew seemed to ponder this question for a moment. "That is a distinct possibility." The two began to laugh. "It would explain a lot anyway." As their laughter died down, Matthew held Ivan's gaze. He smiled for a bit as he leaned backwards on the counter, starting to play with a random strand of golden hair. He seemed to snap out of it seconds later, his voice quieting considerably, much to Ivan's displeasure. "Um, I suppose I should keep going, eh? Lets see, where was I?" He looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Ah! So Kiku and his band of not-so merry men entered the room, each giving their own respective greetings. Kiku glanced around at the space, grimacing at the sight. 'What happened here?' he asked in a timid voice. I gestured obviously to the wreckage. 'Some kid tipped the bookshelf.' A small blush rose to his face in sheer embarrassment of the stupidity of his question. 'A-ah yes, I suppose the more appropriate question would be, why are you here?' I let out a small, rueful chuckle. 'I have to clean it up.'

"At this, the Japanese boy became noticeably flustered. 'But it's so late! Your shift ended hours ago! You shouldn't have to clean all this up yourself.' I put my free hand up to stop him. 'It's all right, really. Someone has to do it, plus it _is_ kind of my job.'

"'That still doesn't change the fact that it's late. Have you eaten?' He retorted. The guy could be so stubborn, especially when it came to instances like this. As I was about to respond, my stomach let out a loud growl, clearly answering his question. _Gee, what impeccable timing,_ I thought, inwardly scolding my organs for betraying me. Kiku raised an eyebrow, the dubious expression almost frightening when coupled with his sharp features. 'As I thought.' He sighed. 'Go ahead and head home Matthew-san. We'll take care of the rest of this.' I was about to protest when he cut me off. 'I _insist._'

"We stared each other down for what seemed like a lifetime, but when that skeptical expression returned to his visage, my resolution faltered. The man was a whole head shorter than me and yet somehow managed to be intimidating. I still don't know how he does it. Finally, I gave in. 'Fine, but do you plan on lifting that book shelf all by yourself?' I asked sardonically. He then brightened considerably, turning to his companions. 'It isn't too much to ask for you to help me, is it?' he asked sweetly, batting thick lashes at the other two. Perhaps he knew more than he was letting on. Yao and Heracles looked at each other for a moment, their expressions clearly stating that the idea of working together seemed utterly repulsive. However when the pair looked back at the small Asian before them, the word 'no' refused to come out. Instead, the Greek gave him a sleepy nod and Yao mumbled something like 'I guess it's not _too_ much to ask…' Kiku turned triumphantly toward me. 'See? It's no problem at all. Now go home, I'm sure Gilbert will be happy to see you.' I gave him a smile and packed up my things. Giving one last glace at the hard-working trio, I headed out the door.

"Walking down the old path, I sighed heavily. I longed for the colder, crisp air of Canada, but instead my lungs were greeted with warm and dank humidity, making it harder to breathe. I combed through my hair with my fingers, wondering vaguely if I should call to tell them if I would be back early, but no sooner had I finished this thought, I found myself on the steps of our large porch. I struggled to get the key in the lock, cursing the fact that neither my Papa nor Gilbert had thought to leave the light on so I could see what I was doing. After finally succeeding in unlocking the door, I crept through the entrance, feeling my way through the dark. The house was oddly quiet. All the lights were off, and I groped fruitlessly around for the light switch. When the elusive little bastard was found, blinding luminosity filled the room and my hand instinctively went up to cover my face, my eyes not used to its harsh glow. I set my stuff down on the kitchen counter and froze.

"That's when I heard it. A _moan_. A muffled, but rich tenor voice seeped in through the walls, causing every hair on my body to stand on end. I forgot how to breathe. I moved not a single muscle, afraid even that would make a sound. And I heard it again. A subdued cry both broken and unclear. My feet began to move on their own, hesitantly edging their way toward the noise. With each step, the moans became louder, their estacitic tones becoming clearer and disgustingly apparent. I blindly made my way upstairs until I came to the door of my Papa's room. The reverberations seemed to poor from the entrance, the voices horrifically familiar. My hand shot out to grasp the handle and, trembling, I opened the door. My breath hitched at what I saw.

"Gilbert hovered predatorily over Francis, their bodies caked in sweat. Francis threw his head back, moaning in ecstasy with every thrust Gilbert provided him. Several bite marks covered both of their necks, traces of saliva still glistening where fresh 'wounds' had been made. The two moved together perfectly, flesh mercilessly pounding against flesh. Gilbert's hands raked across Francis' skin, tracing his inner thigh, the both of them clawing at each other as if their lives depended on it. As Gilbert penetrated him deeper, Francis let out a cry of both pain and pleasure, saying his name incoherently. 'G-Gilbert!' The other groaned his name in response and pounded him harder. And I watched as Gilbert, _my boyfriend_, locked lips with my father in a sickeningly heated kiss, their tongues exploring each other with intense drive.

"In their passion induced frenzy, they failed to notice my presence. All I could do was watch as they willingly defiled each other. My throat felt dry. Tears rolled down my face and my entire body shook as I suppressed the urge to scream. My mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead, I choked out a sob, the painful sound filling the room. Both of their heads snapped in my direction, their bodies completely frozen at the sight of me. Sudden realization visibly rushed through them as they began to push away from each other. My father gasped. 'Mathieu…'

"An awkward stillness filled the room, the only sounds being my uncontrollable sobs. Finally, Gilbert got up from the bed, tentatively making his way toward me. 'Birdie, I can explain…' he started. I didn't answer. I _couldn't_ answer. I buried my face in my hands and continued to cry. 'Matthew…?' he asked cautiously.

"'Don't even…' I muttered.

"He started again. 'Babe, this isn't-'

"'DON'T TRY TO FUCKING MAKE EXCUSES FOR YOURSELF!' I screamed at the top of my lungs, something I _never_ do. He stood there, startled, a guilty expression clouding his features. I got a quick look at my father, who sat on the bed mirroring Gilbert's visage before I ran out of the room, racing down the stairs and out the door. I heard one of them cry, 'Wait! Matthew!' But I didn't wait. I ran."

Soul-sucking silence filled the room. Ivan marinated in the dense atmosphere, staring wide-eyed at Matthew. The blond gazed back at him, his eyes a little sad. "And _that _is why I killed him," he said softly.

Ivan snapped out of his daze. "Wait, that's it…?"

Matthew let out a weary chuckle. "What do you mean?"

"You're just going to stop there?" The Russian asked incredulously.

This time, Matthew laughed aloud. "You simply asked me _why _I killed him, not _how_." The Canadian gave him a teasing grin, which Ivan mirrored with a look of frustration.

"I thought it was rather obvious I wanted to know both!"

He giggled. "Well you should have said so, silly."

Ivan clenched his jaw, standing up. As he made his way over to where the blond was standing, Matthew's mocking smile disappeared while he began to back up against the counter. The towering Russian stopped short of the Canadian, crossing his arms as he did so. "Tell me how," he demanded.

Matthew stepped forward so his face was just inches away from Ivan's, causing the older teen to falter. He smirked playfully in defiance. "And if I say no?"

Regaining his courage Ivan got even closer, so that his nose was almost touching Matthew's, secretly relishing the closeness of their proximity. "We had a deal," he whispered firmly.

Their staring contest lasted a few short seconds before Matthew sighed, backing away, much to Ivan's disappointment. "I suppose you're right, but I warn you, this is where the _real_ fun begins."

Ivan took a deep breath. "Bring it on."

Matthew laughed. "Alright."

-o-

Tadaaa~! I know I'm horrible bitch for leaving it right there, but truth be told…I don't care. Yeah, this was originally going to be the why AND the how, but the why took a lot longer than expected so I decided to save it for a later chapter. So if you like gore and death, you might like the next chapter…just might. Just letting you guys know, that was my first attempt at a semi-smut scene, so please tell me how I can improve. Also, it was my first attempt at writing in first person for fanfiction, so feel free to critic me there as well.

Thank you guys for reading and please PLEASE review.


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry I took forever to write this guys! I've had wayyyyy to much shit going on recently, what with the holidays and presentations. So I hope this lives up to your expectations and such. I tried to take everybody's suggestions, speaking of which, thank you to all those who reviewed! They were a major help!

**(ps. I don't own Hetalia and stuff)**

**-o-**

"Well you might as well make yourself comfortable, or were you planning on staying like this?" Matthew asked dryly, a smirk twisting his lips. Ivan blinked, becoming aware of their proximity. He stood directly in front of Matthew, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of his slender form. Blushing, Ivan reluctantly took a step back.

"Da," he mumbled and took back his previous seat at he table. Matthew, instead of leaning on the counter, hopped up on it, wiggling around to find a comfortable place on its ceramic surface. Once settled, he folded his hands in his lap and threw Ivan another crooked smile.

"You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," the Russian answered. Shortly after, the blond began.

~Matthew~

I ran faster than I ever had in my entire life. The tears in my eyes were so thick I had to trust my feet to carry me to my destination. The pounding on the ground became a methodic beat in my ears which was soon accompanied by the rain that began to fall-

"How…" Ivan began noncommittally.

"Stereotypical?" Matthew offered. "Yes, yes it was. I might have laughed had I been in any other situation."

"I'm sorry," Ivan replied guiltily.

Matthew smiled gently. "It's fine. Thinking back on it now, I guess it's actually pretty funny…" He laughed lightly to himself. His gaze shifted to Ivan, who nodded for him to continue.

By the time I stopped running I realized I had made my way to the outskirts of town. I shivered as the rain seeped through my clothes. I wiped the mixture of tears and rain from my eyes, finally becoming aware of where I was.

I looked up, seeing the drenched outline of a building. The rusty, abandoned structure stood hollow in the storm. I suppose I affiliated myself with it, because not moments later, I found myself pulling open the old iron doors. They groaned and creaked from lack of use, a sound that echoed through the metallic space. From the looks of it, it was an old warehouse, for what or whom I didn't know, but the vague outline of crunched metal awaited me in the darkness. The lighting from outside cast flashing beams of light through the various holes that decorated the ceiling. As I took hesitant steps forward, I glanced around at the foreboding content of the space.

Mangled iron beams jutted out from both the walls and the ground. Chains that had been used for god-knows-what lay strewn about in piles, while other sharp looking objects adorned the room. The almost horror-movie like scene sent shivers up my spine.

I jumped when something brushed past my leg. Not bothering to suppress my squeal, I looked down in horror. The emotion quickly faded when I realized what it was. My pet polar bear, Kumajiro, pawed lightly at my faded jeans, looking at me with a concerned expression.

"Wait, wait, wait." Ivan stopped him for a moment. "Did you just say 'polar bear'?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes," Matthew deadpanned.

"Your _pet_ polar bear."

"Yes."

"…Carry on then."

Matthew eyed him curiously, obviously finding nothing odd about having an arctic creature for a pet. Ivan stared back at him. _Must be a Canadian thing…_he thought. A moment later, Matthew continued.

"As I was saying…"

Kumajiro pawed at me curiously. _He must have followed me here,_ I thought. At the sight of my old friend, I broke down again. I picked him up, clutching him close to my chest as I cried.

"He just…and they…" My broken sentences came out as barely audible whispers. I didn't care that my glasses were getting smudged, I didn't even care that I could be arrested for trespassing, all I wanted was to cry. My whole body shook and I sunk to my knees. Kumajiro squirmed, loosening my iron grip, and looked me in the eye before licking some of the stray tears from my cheek. I traced my fingers through his white fur, more to comfort myself than him.

Muffled, yet audible, yells could be heard outside. But I paid them no head. The familiar tenor timbre was not something I wanted to hear right now. I cringed when that voice reached the doorway.

"Birdie…" Gilbert stood at the door, panting and rain-soaked. I refused to turn to meet his gaze. I remained on the floor, staring at the dirt, willing the fresh tears from my eyes. The crunch of his shoes became louder as he neared the place where I sat.

"Matthew…" he tried again. I heard a rustle behind me, knowing he had reached out to touch me. Not finding it in his heart to do so however, he crouched next to me in the dirt.

I began to absentmindedly stroke Kumajiro's fur while my other arm wrapped itself protectively around my knees. In my peripheral vision, I saw him try to form words that just wouldn't come out.

I cut him off. "What."

"Huh?" he answered dumbly.

"What could you possibly have to say to me after that? What excuse could you possibly give me that would make what just happened okay?"

Gilbert flinched at the biting venom in my voice. "Mattie I'm sorry-"

"Sorry?" I stood up now, fire blazing in my eyes. "You think a simple apology is going to make all of this better?" The albino stared at me in a loss for words. I could slowly feel the pain in my chest turning to rage as I stared down at my boyfriend's pathetically guilty face. I practically spat my next words. "How long?"

"What do you mea-"

"How fucking long have the two of you been sleeping together?"

He bowed his head, refusing to look me in the eye. "A few months." He answered quietly.

Blind fury coursed through my veins, so much that it cut my words short. I stood there, hands balled into fists, staring at him as the words sunk in. I couldn't even bother to ask 'why'. I didn't want to know, it was too much already.

Gilbert finally stood, rubbing the back of his neck. "You-…you weren't supposed to find out like this."

"And how the fuck was I _supposed_ to find something like this out?"

Gilbert didn't answer. Instead, a tense silence filled the room, clashes of thunder the only sound breaking the atmosphere. "Mattie, please come home. We can talk about this in a more civilized manner."

"Civilized? You want to talk to me about being civilized?" My voice rose in pitch, becoming hysterical.

He reached forward to grab my arms. "Birdie, please listen-"

With a loud, and almost soothing sound, my palm made contact with his face in a harsh slap. "Don't fucking touch me. Just get out." And for a moment, it looked like that was going to be the end of it. His hands left my arms, just barely ghosting over my flesh as he did so. He turned away from me and headed for the door. All the while, I stared at the hand I had slapped him with, remembering the feeling of when it made brutal contact with the plush skin of his cheek. Kumajiro nudged me from his position on the ground, and as I stared into the black orbs of his eyes, a sudden rush washed over me. I clenched my fist and spoke to my pet in a low voice. "Kuma…" the bear's ears perked up at the sound of his name. "Sick 'em."

Black orbs blinked in understanding and a low growl escaped Kumajiro's throat. The bear took off and Gilbert had little time to even look behind him before sharp claws collided with the side of his head, effectively knocking him unconscious.

I approached him slowly, marveling at the blood that gushed from his wound. His white hair seemed to be made for the red gems that now decorated it. I lifted his head from the ground, smiling softly. _He's wearing a crown of his own blood._

"How poetic…" I muttered. My fingers touched the crimson liquid as the smile fell from my face. "How pathetic." In one swift movement, I grabbed him by his hair and dragged him along the dirt floor. I eyed the space around me, finally _seeing_ the tools I had at my disposal. My head snapped back to look at my bear, now my partner in crime so to speak. "Come on Kuma, we're not done yet."

He groaned, his voice long, drawn out, and painful. Gilbert's head twitched, trying to rouse himself back into consciousness. He blinked, eyes stinging from the light shining on him from some unknown source. Another muffled groan escaped his lips and the silence afterwards gave way to the light scuffling of my shoes. His eyes snapped open, senses springing to life. The bewildered German finally became aware of his surroundings.

Gilbert hung by his hands in the centre of the filthy room, completely nude. The long string of chain that bound his wrists was tied to a rusted pipe in the ceiling, suspending him above the ground. The rusted lamp above him cast a dull sheen around the warehouse, its presence blinding him to the rest of the space.

His voice sounded hoarse in his throat. "What the fuck…"

My own voice sounded sickeningly sweet. "You're finally awake then, love?"

Gilbert's eyes struggled to focus in the light. "M-Mattie?"

I stepped into his line of sight, an arms length away from him. A small smile still clung to my face, though I was fully aware of how puffy my eyes must have been. But I was done crying now.

Gilbert tried again. "Mattie what's going on?"

I closed the distance between us, wrapping my arms around his bareback. "Are you sure you're okay? You took a nasty spill…" Gilbert was suddenly very aware of the thick oozing substance that was starting to dry on the side of his head. I watched his eyes widen as dread began to pool at the base of his stomach. I started to absentmindedly stroke his pale skin.

"Mattie what's going on?" he managed to get out smoothly, fear creeping into his words.

I chuckled. "You tell me. You're a very smart when you're not fucking my father." Sugar seemed to drip from my words, I sounded so sweet. Beneath his rib cage, I felt Gilbert's heart begin to beat faster.

He swallowed. " Matthew, let me go."

"Oh but I cant do that! You're barely conscious and bleeding, and we haven't had our fun yet." I paused, chuckling as I surveyed his body. "Plus I don't think you're in any condition to be running around town," I said, letting my eyes roam freely over Gilbert's naked form.

The German's red eyes widened in horror as my hands began to wander, my gaze hungrily devouring him. Gilbert began struggling against his bonds in vain, clear panic beginning to rise within him.

"Matthew this is fucking insane, let me go!"

This earned him a steely glare and slap to the face. "Don't you tell me what to do, I'd hate to have to ruin that beautiful face of yours."

Gilbert's words died in his throat in sheer terror. Finally, he spit up a string of semi-coherent words, staring at me all the while. "What are you going to do to me…?"

"I don't know," I answered. "But I can tell you two things. One-" I cupped Gilbert's cheek gently. "It's going to hurt, a lot. And two…you are probably going to die." My voice took on the tone as if I were speaking to a child. Tears welled up in the German's eyes and my smile widened. "Don't cry, love."

I backed away, shrinking back into the darkness to retrieve something. Out of his sight, my cheerful façade melted away. _What am I doing?_ I repeatedly asked myself. _I am not this person, what the hell am I doing?_ My hands started to shake as I looked around. _It's too late to go back now…I have to go through with this. _I glanced down at Kumajiro. He just sat there with his head cocked to the side. I looked to his right, seeing Gilbert's clothing in a jumbled heap. I picked up the jeans that Kuma had begun to paw at and noticed that, firstly, they were my Papa's, and second that a long, brown belt still hung loosely in the loops. I practically ripped the leather from its confines, accidentally hitting myself on the arm in the process. I winced at the pain but then stopped. For a few brief moments I glanced between my arm and the belt. I failed to force down a crazed smile that my lips had started to become all too accustomed to. I patted my bear on the head before turning back to…_what do I even call him now? My boyfriend, my ex, my victim…?_ No, victim seemed to real, too incriminating. Yet all the same it felt powerful. It filled me with a sense of control I'd never felt before.

I reemerged in the lamp light before Gilbert, brandishing my new weapon and mindset. I advanced on him, masking my face with the old chipper expression. "I was thinking of starting with something a little more _blunt_, but I felt it might be too soon for that." My index finger traced the outline of the worn belt idly. "But this will do nicely."

Gilbert's struggles began to intensify. He attempted to rouse his limbs from painful slumber, thrashing about despite the constant throbbing that was sure to be pounding in his skull. I had to admit it was rather humorous to watch, considering the best he could accomplish was a vague twitch in his legs, creating a dying, wiggling fish motion.

I paid this no mind, and I began to stroke the flesh of his waist with the course leather of the belt. For no other reason than I felt like it, I smacked the strap across his skin, earning me a sharp cry of pain from my ex and a lovely red mark on the snowy expanse in front of me. I grinned. I repeated the gesture a second and third time, delighted with the outcome each time. I slowly stared to circle Gilbert like a hawk, treating the belt like a whip, enjoying myself far too much for my own good.

I brought the leather down more forcefully, my confidence increasing with his screams. The blows became faster and harder, decorating pasty flesh and painting it red. The strap came down on the German's shoulder especially hard with a loud crack, and Gilbert screamed loud, his voice driven more by terror than pain. I frowned at this, then chuckled.

"You know I've always loved making you scream," I practically giggled. "I mean, generally not in this context but fun nonetheless." I traced Gilbert's throat with one slender finger. "And while I love hearing your voice, I'd hate for someone to come and find us. I've only just gotten started." With that said, I wrapped the belt around his neck, pulling the loop tighter until I heard Gilbert gasping for air. All the while he chanted a nonsensical string of, "No, no no no Mattie, please."

I sighed in exasperation. "Yes dear, yes."

The noises that escaped Gilbert's mouth were strangled whispering at best, significantly lower in volume due to his new collar. With that done, I scurried back into the darkness to retrieve my next object. There was the sickening sound of metal scrapping against concrete, and when I reappeared in front of Gilbert, I was carrying a crowbar.

"Here we are," I mumbled. The albino paled considerably, looking as if he were going to vomit. I smiled sweetly. "Let's begin."

-o-

Okay yeah, so the reason this is cut short is because holy shit I needed to post something. I fear it might not be my best work, but with the help of my lovely beta, I'm sure it's at least readable. PLEASE review. I need them to continue, as I do not have much inspiration for this fic anymore, but if people actually still read it, I will. So yeah…


End file.
